


Keep A Place For Me

by ionsquare



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Frank Ocean songfic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:41:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionsquare/pseuds/ionsquare
Summary: Sam presses play, and the smooth, jazzy voice flows through his ears, filling him with a warm, familiar feeling:“I thought that I was dreaming when you said you love me.”His eyes slip shut and his mind drifts to Bucky -- his voice, his face, his eyes, when he told Sam he loved him.





	Keep A Place For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted in two years, and I've been listening to Frank Ocean on repeat and thought to myself, "Let's discuss how much Frank's music means to Sam. How it shapes him. Heals him. etc, etc, etc, etc." I was going to have the summary be, "Sam Wilson loves Frank Ocean and so do I."
> 
> I told myself I wasn't going to do another series, but here I am, doing another series. At least, hopefully, I won't abandon this one. Anyway this probably won't make a lick of sense unless you've read [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6909991) and [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186907). I'll put them all together eventually. 
> 
> Each vignette is titled by a song from Frank Ocean's second masterpiece, _Blonde_. I highly suggest listening to it as you "get in your feelings" reading this. I certainly did.

**_(Ivy)_ **

 

The rain pounds loudly against the window. Sam still stretched out on his bed, his dorm room getting gradually cooler from the dip in temperature outside. The longer he stares at the ceiling the more the tiles morph into new shapes, his eyes going dry the longer he doesn’t blink. His hand slides across his bed until he’s gripping his iPod, pushing the earbuds in his ears.

Sam presses play, and the smooth, jazzy voice flows through his ears, filling him with a warm, familiar feeling: _“I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me.”_ His eyes slip shut and his mind drifts to Bucky -- his voice, his face, his eyes, when he told Sam he loved him.

 

*

 

The air is damp and hot in Sam’s room, but the body pressed against his is even hotter, sweaty from exertion.

“You feel so good,” Bucky gasps in his ear, thrusting in deeper. He kisses Sam’s shoulder, biting down when he feels him clench, a laugh bubbling out of him. “You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?”

Sam arches, pushing back on Bucky’s cock, biting down on his own hand.

“Loss for words, huh?” Bucky teases.

“Shut _up_ and make me come,” Sam demands, looking over his shoulder, watching Bucky’s face as he clenches on him again.

They’re loud when they both come, collapsing on Sam’s rumpled bed in a sweaty heap, gasping as they try to catch their breaths. Another laugh comes from Bucky and he rolls on his side, kissing Sam hard, with every ounce of conviction he possesses.

“I love you,” Bucky announces.

Sam hears the words, post-coital euphoria clouding his mind so much that trying to form a response is nearly impossible. He meets Bucky’s eyes and he’s so beautiful it hurts. Bucky’s hair is pulled back, but a few tendrils frame his face and Sam really can’t form any sort of response. He reaches up to pull Bucky down for a kiss, biting down on his lower lip because he likes the noise Bucky makes when he does.

“I love you,” Bucky says again, a whisper against Sam’s lips.

Sam grips the back of Bucky’s neck, feels his chest get tight, and he expels a breath that turns into a sob of sorts, wrapping his arms around Bucky. This moment feels like a dream, it has to be, Sam tries to rationalize to himself. They’re two idiot sophomores, fucking around on a Saturday night instead of working on homework or going out and doing something that’ll get them in trouble--

But they’re here, with each other, and Bucky loves him.

 

*

 

Sam comes back to the present, hitting pause on his iPod when the door unlocks and Bucky steps inside, arms full of food, mouth moving as he eats something. He’s always eating something, especially Sam’s ass. Bucky smiles over at him and fucking hell, Sam loves him too. He tracks every movement Bucky makes, vaguely listens to him as he goes off on a tangent about the dining hall running out of ketchup.

“ _I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me_ ,” Sam quotes suddenly.

Bucky stops, drops his boot he was taking off.

“Frank Ocean,” Sam clarifies.

“I know,” Bucky says, “but why are you--”

“Because I love you. I fucking love you.”

Bucky kneels on the edge of the bed, crawling up to Sam, capturing his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. “ _I had no chance to prepare, I couldn’t see you coming_ ,” Bucky sings softly, kissing Sam again.

“You can’t just sing Frank like that, it only makes me love you more,” Sam tells him. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s having an out of body experience, and maybe this is what really being in love feels like.

“You can’t just say you love me, because it only makes me want to say it all the time.”

Sam feels his chest constrict again and he can feel his eyes watering a little. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it all the time,” he says before shutting him up with another kiss.

 

**_(Seigfried)_**

 

Sam can measure his life in music.

When his mother was murdered, the bodega across the street had been playing _Trouble Man_ by Marvin Gaye. It’s one of his favorite songs, but it triggers a lot of pain and grief, and all he can see when he hears that song is his dead mother.

The anniversary rolls around, and it’s another year he can say that he didn’t give up. He knows his mother wouldn’t want him to, and that she’d be proud of him for working hard to get to college. “Even when I’m not of this Earth anymore, Sam, I will always love you,” she’d tell him, gently rubbing his head while cooking dinner.

“ _I’m not brave_ ,” Sam sings through tears, clutching his pillow. “ _This is not my life_ ,” he chokes out, the record player begins to skip, repeating over and over--

This is not my life.

This is not my life.

This is not my life.

 

**_(White Ferrari)_ **

 

Sam’s not sure what to think when the person who was his best friend, his whole world at one point in time, shares a memory on Facebook. The photo is ancient history, but is anything ever really ancient history? It’s Sam and T’Challa during their senior year, atop the Empire State Building during a sunset that still haunts Sam. So much for ancient history, he surmises. The purple rays of the sunset were playing against T’Challa’s eyes and Sam had to kiss him. That’s the photo, the memory: post-kiss, his face pressed into T’Challa’s neck, hidden as the photo is taken.

T’Challa comments on the memory and it throws Sam for a loop that makes him feel dizzy: “I’m sure we’re taller in another dimension.”

He’s playing the song over and over, earbuds shoved in his ears to drown out every other sound, letting Frank Ocean’s words fill him up.

_It’s just a scar, at least that’s what they call it._

His body remembers T’Challa and it makes him shiver. The night before their graduation, heated confessions in the moment, clumsy hands clutching one another, their mouths open in ecstasy as their bodies moved in a synchronized rhythm unknown to either of them. He remembers leaving kisses down T’Challa’s back afterward, cheek resting on his warm skin, darker than his own and so beautiful. His hands followed the places where his mouth left kisses, and even now, lost in ancient memories, Sam remembers the taste of T’Challa’s skin.

He knows he always will and it makes him ache.

Sam sits up, opening his laptop again, fingers skipping along the keys: “Mind over matter is magic.” He quickly closes it back, biting the edge of his thumb.

“Time for a walk,” he says to his dorm room, grabbing his iPod.

Sam sings quietly to himself, “ _I care for you still and I will forever_.” He’s already walked the entire circle of College Hill three times, stopping at the bottom to sit for a minute but a text alert interrupts Frank Ocean’s aching voice. His phone vibrates again with another text, and it’s Bucky.

“I made chocolate chip pancakes!”

Sam grins at the photo Bucky had sent after the first text. He taps the call symbol.

“You cannot have any of my pancakes,” Bucky answers with his mouth full.

Sam thinks about the last lyric of the song he’d been listening to for hours, smiling to himself, letting go, and letting himself fall.

_And we’re free to fall._

Maybe Sam and T’Challa are taller in another dimension, but Sam will never know, and maybe that’s for the best.

 

**_(Nikes)_ **

 

The first time Sam heard someone explain that sexuality is fluid, it was like opening a window and letting fresh air in. He can’t even pinpoint when he knew he liked men, it just made sense. He knows he likes women too, but truthfully, he’s attracted to people. People are beautiful, complicated, and fascinating all at once, it’s why he spends so much time out on the quad. Surrounded by people and taking all of them in.

He had no one to really talk about it with, and growing up in Harlem was not easy even though Harlem will always be his home. He never had a chance to tell his mother. He never had the chance to be his whole, true self with her. That hurts more than anything.

This is why he has Frank Ocean’s music. Sam can measure his life in music, and being a young black man in a world that is hateful and complicated, there’s music. Frank’s music.

One night he’s walking with Bucky after a brief storm had kept them inside, and Bucky steals an earbud, sticking it in his ear.

Sam immediately hits pause.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, taking the earbud back out.

“I just...This is Frank Ocean.” He watches Bucky’s face closely, gauging his reactions. “Sometimes all I have is Frank’s music to get me through a day.”

Bucky tugs Sam’s iPod from his hand, putting both earbuds in his ears, pressing play.

_I may be younger, but I’ll look after you - We’re not in love, but I’ll make love to you._

Sam’s heart is beating so fast, but then Bucky is putting an earbud back in his ear, and they start making out in public to Frank singing, “ _Now that’s a real mermaid_.” The song repeating over and over, and the lyrics have no basis on his relationship with Bucky, right now, but making out with Bucky with Frank as the mood music feels like a dream.

“Is he talking about a threesome at the end?” Bucky asks later on.

Sam laughs loudly, covering his face.

“Do you want to have a threesome with Rogers?”

Sam quirks an eyebrow at that.

“Don’t look at me like that, and don’t act like you _haven’t_ thought about it once.”

Sam sings teasingly, “ _it’s only awkward if you’re fucking him too_.”

“I think this song is going to haunt me,” Bucky says very seriously. “You have to read between the lines, you know? But that’s the point. He doesn’t really want you to analyze the song too much, because you’d get lost in what the real meaning is.”

“His songs helped me understand myself,” Sam says to the ceiling in Bucky’s dorm room, turning his head to look at Bucky. “Sharing his music with you feels like I’m letting you see into my soul.”

Bucky reaches for his hand. “I want to see all of you, but only if you want me to.”

“I want to see you too,” Sam says, linking his fingers with Bucky’s and squeezing. “ _I’ll mean something to you_ ,” he sings, kissing Bucky.

“ _I’ll mean something to you_ ,” Bucky sings back.

 

**_(Self Control)_ **

 

Sophomore year is mere weeks away from being over, so naturally Clint decides to have a party for all the sophomores in White Hall. Even though he’s a year ahead of them, Clint still likes his parties. Of course, this doesn’t stop anyone from inviting others from neighboring dorms.

“Go out with a bang, am I right?” Clint had said mischievously.

Sam is higher than he’s ever been in his life. His lips are numb from the tequila shots, but maybe a little more from constantly needing to makeout with Bucky, which is currently what he’s doing at the moment.

“You taste like limes,” Sam whispers hotly, nipping at Bucky’s mouth.

“So do you,” Bucky whispers back, resting his head on the wall. “Holy fuck, I’m so drunk.”

Sam leans forward, nips along the vein popping in Bucky’s neck.

_I’ll be the boyfriend in your wet dreams tonight--_

The music thumps throughout the walls of Bucky and Clint’s dorm room, all the way out the door and down the hallway.

Sam stands up so fast he laughs at the sensation. “C’mere,” he clumsily reaches for Bucky’s hand. “This song is so...fucking,” he sighs, tugging Bucky up on his feet. “It’s so fucking _perfect_. Sexy.” Sam bites his lip, fingers touching the exposed skin where Bucky’s jeans begin riding down. Bucky mimics Sam, biting his own lip, and Sam starts kissing him again.

_Keep a place for me, for me--_

Bucky’s tongue feels so hot and heavy, making Sam groan, rubbing his forehead against Bucky’s, fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

“ _And you made me lose my self control_ ,” Bucky sings, voice husky from smoking and drinking. It’s so hot that it makes Sam whimper a little, making Bucky grin.

Sam clutches his face in his hands, kissing him hard, leaving his mouth to press kisses along his cheek before he’s wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck, letting his eyes close as they begin dancing slowly. The music gets louder and Sam can hear someone yelling to repeat the song, and he’s grateful to that person, because this moment, right here with Bucky, is perfect and he never wants it to end. Bucky’s hands slide up under Sam’s shirt and he presses closer against Bucky’s body, running his nose up his neck, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of his skin.

“James,” he whispers in his ear. Sam can feel Bucky’s fingers digging into his back.

Sam pulls back the same time Bucky does, blinking slowly, feeling dazed. “‘ _Cause you see me like a UFO_ ,” he sings along with Frank Ocean.

They end up at one end of the hallway, smoking again, shotgunning this time. Are marijuana kisses even a thing? Sam thinks to himself before lazily kissing Bucky, one hand fisted in his shirt, while Bucky’s hand pops open the button on Sam’s jeans, giving his half hard cock a good, tight squeeze.

“Want me to do somethin’ about it?” Bucky bites his lip. Sam watches, nods. “Here? In front of _everyone_?”

“Bucky,” he whines, head tilting back and thunking on the wall. He’s moaning soon enough, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s neck as he deftly strokes his cock.

“Oh fucking...shit…” a voice says behind them.

Sam looks over Bucky’s shoulder, coughing as he tries to cover a laugh. Bucky pulls his hand off Sam’s cock and he makes a noise, bringing a hand down to cover his erection.

“Steve,” Sam laughs breathlessly. “Hey.” Steve is blushing hard and it makes him look really good, and it does something to Sam. “It’s Steve, Bucky.”

Bucky glares at him, back to Steve. “Yeah, I got that.”

Sam can hear _Pink + White_ playing, and he licks his lips.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Bucky tells Sam, giving him a quick kiss.

Sam nods, holding onto Bucky’s hand until their fingers unlink, dropping his hand down to smack against his thigh. He’s very hot now, leaning on the wall for support, mouth dry from smoking and it makes him wet his lips again. He can see Steve out of the corner of his eye watching him intently.

“Sorry I interrupted… whatever was about to happen,” Steve says, leaning in so that Sam can hear.

Sam turns his body so he’s facing Steve now, crooking a finger in a belt loop on Steve’s pants, dragging him closer. “Don’t be sorry,” Sam hears himself say, staring at Steve’s mouth. “I gotta admit, Steve, I am very high right now.” Sam slowly brings his eyes up to Steve’s face. “You have a nice mouth.”

“I’m -- That’s--” Steve stumbles over his words.

Sam can feel Bucky standing behind him; he tilts his head to the side letting Bucky rest his chin on his shoulder. “Don’t you think Steve has a nice mouth?” He asks Bucky.

Bucky sips his drink, kissing Sam’s neck, feeling him shiver. He meets Steve’s eyes and Bucky can see the dueling feelings so plainly on his face: intrigue, confusion, desperation. “He has a very nice mouth,” Bucky agrees, looking right at Steve.

The music switches to a song Sam doesn’t recognize before quickly changing into _Close To You_ , and he can hear himself singing along.

“ _I run my hands through what’s left_ ,” Sam sings to Steve, stepping up and pushing Steve against the wall. “ _Just like mine versions of these belong to you_ ,” he croons, making himself laugh.

Steve swallows, enraptured by Sam’s soft voice, the hold he has over him at the moment. He clenches his hands into two tight fists, fingers tingling to touch Sam everywhere. Before he does something he knows he’ll regret, Bucky is touching the wrist of his right hand, and now the look on Bucky’s face has him feeling very warm.

“Follow me,” Bucky whispers.

Sam wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, looking around to make sure Steve’s following, and he smiles at Steve when he sees him.

They all find their way back to Bucky and Clint’s room, and Sam immediately falls on Bucky’s bed, slowly rolling over on his back, stretching like a cat lounging in the sun.

Bucky watches Steve watching Sam. “You should stay,” Bucky says, setting his empty cup down. “You okay sharing?”

“What?” Steve chokes out hoarsely.

Bucky smirks. “The bed, Rogers. Are you okay sharing the bed?”

Steve nods sagely but stops himself. “I mean, no. I don’t. I don’t… mind.” He exhales heavily. “This is a little overwhelming.”

“He -- We,” Bucky corrects himself. “We want you here.”

Steve relaxes, finally, toeing his shoes off, looking over at Sam already asleep and snoring.

“Weed knocks him out so fast,” Bucky laughs. “C’mon, let’s get cozy.”

“Cozy?”

“Cozy,” Bucky repeats, grinning.

 

*

 

_Poolside convo about your summer last night--_

Sam fidgets until his eyes slowly open, his mind orienting itself, focusing on the song now filling up the space in the room.

“ _I’ll sleep between y’all, it’s nothing_ ,” Bucky sings to Steve.

Sam feels his heart clench tight, watches the blush climb up Steve’s neck, coloring his cheeks a lovely shade of red.

Bucky glances over at the bed, meeting Sam’s eyes. “ _‘Cause you see me like a UFO_ ,” he mouths along to the words, smiling at Sam.

Sam loves Bucky, more than any song lyrics could ever express. He can feel himself, and more importantly, his heart, making room for Steve. These feelings aren’t new, he’s just paying closer attention to them. Bucky and Steve climb back in the bed with him, and it feels right. Sam pushes a thigh between Bucky’s legs, kissing him, not even concerned about stale, morning breath. He rests his forehead to Bucky’s, reaching back for Steve, their fingers linking together. Sam tugs until Steve’s pressed along his back, nose buried against Sam’s shoulder, his arm wrapped comfortably around Sam.

Keep a place for me, Sam thinks to himself, Frank’s words echoing peacefully in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> My undying love and gratitude to Dani for quickly reading this over for me. She helps me with run-on sentences, because they happen a lot.
> 
> More undying love to Frank Ocean for writing _Ivy_ , which is my favorite song on the album. Title of this comes from _Self Control_.
> 
> You're allowed to laugh at me for writing SONGFIC BECAUSE WHO EVEN WRITES SONGFIC ANYMORE?! I feel like I've been transported back to the mid-2000's. I'm pretty sure that's the last time I wrote songfic.
> 
> Special shoutout to all of YOU. You guys continue to leave comments and anytime I get an email notification it really makes me smile. I read all of them, and nine times out of ten I have no idea what to say back. But I can't tell you how much it means to me, helps motivate me, and reminds me that people do enjoy my writing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> I'm not on [tumblr](http://ionsquare.tumblr.com/) too much but hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sharminated). *thumbs up*


End file.
